


Singularity

by rei_c



Series: Mashups and Crossovers [3]
Category: American Assassin (2017), Fringe (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Magic Revealed, Military Backstory, Military Jargon, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Pre-Threesome, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 07:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: When the two universes agree to work together to stop the universes from colliding, they need to pull together a task force of agents from both sides. Olivia gets a stack of folders to work through and settles on one pair: Mieczysław Stilinski and his alternate, Mitch Rapp.





	Singularity

**Author's Note:**

> First, the Fringe universe in this is very different from canon (no Peter, for one; actual legit cooperation between the two universes, for another). Second, there's a lot of unwritten backstory for all characters, since this is just one snapshot out of a much, much larger story. Third, that much, much larger story will end up with lots of Stiles/Mitch on the way to Stiles/Olivia/Mitch, so keep that in mind (if you want). 
> 
> Um. Yeah. So. *Hands*

Olivia looks thoughtfully at the folders in front of her then slides them both across the table to Astrid. "Take a look at this one," she says. "Joint task force, classified unit, top-secret missions running the last six years. Recruited FBI, so he's one of us -- or at least was. No telling who he's working for now. No family, next of kin is his CO. Other than this folder, I don't think he exists." 

Astrid flips the covers on both folders, frowns. "His unit's too classified for _us_ to look at? That's rare." 

"And intriguing," Olivia admits. "Take a look at the other folder." 

"CIA," Astrid says. "Also classified, but 'anti-terrorism task force?' I didn't think they were worried about that." 

Oliva hums, says, "He's a good match -- on both sides, even, which is rare for us. Recruited young, successful -- he's still alive, anyway, with one hundred percent mission completion. I'd like to pull him in and talk to him." 

Astrid looks up at that. "So quickly?" she asks. "Is there -- do you have -- why?" 

Olivia shakes her head. "A feeling," she says, knows her tone and face show off the distaste she has at relying on her feelings, even though they've all come to the conclusion that her gut instincts rarely mislead them. "I just have a feeling about this one." 

"All right," Astrid says. "I'll tell Broyles." 

\--

Eight days later, a young man walks through the door to the lab, stands at parade rest a few paces inside the door, and inclines his head when Astrid comes over to greet him. 

"Agent Mieczysław Stilinski, ma'am, reporting as requested with apologies for the delay. Nickname Stiles, call sign alias Mischief. And you must be Agent Farnsworth. It's an honour, ma'am." 

Olivia, in a room just off to the side of the main lab, stands up from the table and makes her way to the window. She studies him: tall, lean, tan. He's wearing an ACU with no identifying patches or visible weaponry, looks comfortable with it, but that is definitely not FBI issue so his comfort level says a lot about the type of unit he's in. Olivia narrows her eyes, steps a little closer to the window. Agent Stilinski doesn't acknowledge her but something in his posture, some aspect of his attention, has shifted. He's noticed her. Olivia wonders why, then wonders _how_. 

"Please," Astrid says. She's got her eyes a little more open than normal, a little wider, and she's playing up her smaller stature and the girlish tone she can use when she wants someone to underestimate her. Agent Stilinski doesn't respond to it. Either he's trained too well or he doesn't believe it; whichever's the truth says a lot about him. Olivia wishes she knew for sure which it was, wishes there was more in his file than his bare-bones bio and a slew of mission reports too redacted to be of any use. "It's just Astrid. And -- what do you mean, it's an honour? You've heard of us?" 

Stilinski grins; the expression is disarming, makes him look younger. Olivia suddenly understands why his call sign's Mischief. "Fringe Division has grown to something approaching legendary status in my unit, ma'am. We've been following your activities pretty closely. One or two of our mission briefs actually used some of your techniques."

Astrid frowns and tilts her head. "What techniques?" 

Stilinski stands there for a moment. He turns his head, then, and looks directly at Olivia. "Would you mind joining us, Agent Dunham? I'm sure you'll have questions."

A chill goes down Olivia's back, then up again, circling around her skull. She walks out into the main room, comes to a stop next to Astrid. Stilinski's eyes haven't left hers the entire time. There's nothing wavering about him, either in his stance or in his aura; he's definitely from their side of the rifts and he's definitely not one of the Cortexiphan kids, but there's something -- there's something slightly _off_ about him. Six years of running the kind of missions Olivia's guessing at would mean his spatial awareness is probably off the charts, especially since there's no obvious injuries or scarring, but there's something more to this. There has to be. No one is that _aware_. It's just not possible. 

"Agent Dunham," he finally says, inclining his head in her direction. "It's an honour and a privilege, ma'am.The rest of my unit will be jealous I had this opportunity." He pauses, eyes losing a little bit of their shine, and adds, "If I get to tell them, of course. I take it I'm here for something -- a little out of the ordinary? Considering the focus of Fringe Division." 

"What are the mission parameters of your unit, Agent Stilinski?" Olivia asks. 

Stilinski nods, once, like he'd expected the question and the manner in which it was delivered, like he knows _her_, like she couldn't have said anything else in that moment and he knew that. "Supernatural policing, ma'am," he says. "You deal with fringe science, we deal with fringe humanity. Shifters, magic-users, the fae -- my unit makes sure the good ones are protected and the bad ones are terminated. With extreme prejudice." 

"Magic," Astrid says. "There's -- _magic_?" 

"Are you one of them?" Olivia's quick to ask on the heels of Astrid's disbelief. 

Stilinski's grin goes lopsided. "Classified, ma'am. But I can tell you that I grew up with them; that's why the agency was so quick to grab me after I finished my internship. Familiarity breeds, in this case, not contempt but competence." 

Olivia decides that she's going to think about this later. Right now, she has other priorities. "Alternate dimensions," she says. Stilinski doesn't move, doesn't react, but something in him has straightened up and gone very, very still. "Parallel universes with alternate histories. Ours is colliding against another and we're trying to stop degradation on both sides; if we don't, they're going to eat each other alive. We're developing a task force -- one person from our side partnered with their parallel -- to hit singularities as they form, wherever they form. It takes a special kind of person to accept this, Agent Stilinski, as well as being physically capable of jumping from one universe to the other." 

"And you think I have what it takes, ma'am," Stilinski says. It's not a question. 

"Do you think this is something you'd be interested in doing?" Olivia asks. 

The smile that flirts with Stilinski's lips is not at all reassuring. Olivia hopes it wasn't meant to be. "It's been a while since I've looked at my double," he says. "I'd like another chance; the last one was -- disappointing." 

Astrid opens her mouth, closes it again. Olivia's the one to ask, "You've -- come across a double before?" 

Stilinski grins. The expression shows off his teeth, white and gleaming. "Demon," he says. "It possessed me. We split, came face to face in the halls of my high school." 

"What happened to it?" Astrid asks. 

"I killed it," Stilinski answers. "My friends and I caught it and starved it to death over the course of several months. I was the one who finally released it." He waits for them to take that in, says, "I was sixteen." Olivia can imagine it, can _see_ it, but Astrid covers her mouth with her hand, takes one step backwards. "There's a reason," Stilinski says, gently, "that I've lasted this long, doing what I do. The supernatural world requires more ruthlessness than the human one. There's not a lot of room for mercy when everyone you meet has fangs and claws and venom." 

Olivia licks her lips. There's something in the pit of her belly that squirms at the thought of how ruthless this man can be, at knowing what he knows, at seeing what he's seen. "Ruthlessness might be the saving grace of two universes, Agent Stilinski." 

Stiles' gaze turns heated. "I'm willing to find out. Ma'am." 

\--

The meeting, in the end, seems anti-climatic. Olivia's not sure what she'd been expecting but Agent Stilinski and Agent Rapp just stand there, looking at each other in silence, no wasted movement, no visible curiosity. 

Rapp's the first one to speak. "Birth name Mieczysław Stilinski," he says, "obviously, but I go by Mitch. And my -- our -- mother's maiden name. That should make things easier when it's time to write reports." 

"Mitch Rapp," Stilinski says. He sounds thoughtful, as if he's testing out the way the name sounds, fits, feels on his tongue. He nods, slowly, says, "My friends call me Stiles. Call sign Mischief." Rapp's eyes go dark; Stilinski nods, says, "It wasn't the easiest to get used to, but I did. Fits, anyway. She was right about that." 

Rapp lifts up his shirt on his left side, shows off the edges of a tattoo. Stilinski gestures at his back. In unison, they both say, "Jalalabad." They grin, then, and Olivia has to swallow at the look on their faces, mirrored, dark, hungry. She takes a step back and they both look at her, the same measured movements, the same rapacious want, the same black eyes, like watching twins who have a lifetime of familiarity with each other. 

"I'll wait outside," she says. "You get five minutes, no cameras, then I'm coming back in with your," and she nods at Rapp, "Agent Dunham to brief you on your first mission." 

"Yes, ma'am," Stilinski says. "Thank you, ma'am." 

As Olivia closes the door behind her, she hears one of them say, "Reminds me of Heather. What Heather could've been," and the other one respond, "Heather's dead in your world?" 

\--

With Olivia gone, Stiles relaxes -- not entirely, because he's facing _himself_, but enough for Rapp to notice and mirror. "How did you manage to get picked for this assignment?" Stiles asks. 

Rapp shrugs one shoulder, says, "They said something about DNA, about whatever I have in me meshing well with whatever chemicals crossing over requires. You?" 

Stiles holds out one palm, closes it into a fist. When he opens it again, there's a small, green flame burning hot enough to give off significant warmth. "Magic does strange things," he says. He curls his hand; the flame dances to his middle fingertip, then splits and hovers over nails before swooping up, spinning into a phoenix, then a unicorn, then a dragon, then fizzling out into sparks that lazily float downward. The floor sizzles where the embers hit. "I was a teenager the first time I crossed dimensions. That leaves an imprint." 

"An imprint," Rapp echoes. "An easier way to do it again. But -- magic?" 

"You probably have it, too," Stiles says. "It's just a matter of unlocking it." 

Rapp studies Stiles. Stiles stands there, takes it, and Rapp must come to some kind of conclusion because he smiles, then starts laughing. "Sounds good," Rapp says. "As soon as we get out of here?" 

Stiles grins, baring his teeth. "Definitely," he says.


End file.
